


Scratching the Headboard

by Rosage



Series: In Their Orbit [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Paranormal, Werewolf Ferdinand/Human Hubert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26933062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: A quiet morning, dog breath, and a heartbeat.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: In Their Orbit [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612477
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Scratching the Headboard

**Author's Note:**

> This is a coda to For a Beast.

Ferdinand breathes in sweat and chemicals. The smells make the bed’s canopy a tent for two, rather than something vast and smothering. He rolls over to admire the sight of Hubert asleep, eyes closed and neck bared, reliant on Ferdinand’s ears and nose. A dagger sits on the nightstand, of course, but neither needs it now.

The moment Hubert’s steady heartbeat stutters awake, Ferdinand pounces. The blanket slides away as he hovers over Hubert, his claws pinning the edge of his partner’s nightclothes. Hubert stiffens until he opens his eyes. With as much vigor as he can greet someone, Ferdinand leans down and drags his tongue across Hubert’s cheek. Blearily, Hubert wipes it off.

The beast inside Ferdinand plays dead. He gnaws on his inner mouth before rolling off of Hubert. He curls into a ball at the edge of the bed, his foot tapping against nothing.

It is bad enough that Ferdinand’s fangs have grown, owing to Hubert catching Ferdinand’s wrist when he picks at them; or that once, Hubert ran an absent hand along his stomach, as if expecting more than a patch of fur; or that sometimes, Hubert will scratch behind Ferdinand’s ear, his lips curling up at the abominable noise it elicits.

“Your slobber won’t kill me,” Hubert says. This is the only minute of the day his usual careful drone slurs. Yet, Ferdinand cannot enjoy it.  
  
“It may do the next worst thing! What if you wake one morning to find me scratching the headboard? You would surely take your leave and never return.”

“We are not all so dramatic.” When Ferdinand does not respond, the sheets rustle in his direction. “Trust me. I know true monsters.”

“But I smell fear on you all the time.” It happens when he takes Hubert’s hand, or rests his head on his shoulder. Hubert has a right to flinch, even if internally, but it still makes Ferdinand wilt.

Hubert’s heart thumps. “You’re bluffing.”

“Never,” Ferdinand says. “Or not precisely. Your heart rate, for instance—it takes off at a gallop. How do you convince anyone you are undead?”

“You yourself were convinced.”  
  
“Not undead. Beyond the ordinary, certainly.”

“You weren’t wrong about that.”

Ferdinand rolls over, his smile returning. “No, I was not.” He crawls to bury his head against Hubert’s chest, as if that drumming sound is another canopy to enfold him. “Yet, you are so _alive_.”

“It usually behaves.” He swallows, the sound loud in Ferdinand’s ear. “When I investigated Arundel’s ilk, for example. I can control myself against any threat.”

He strokes Ferdinand’s hair, and Ferdinand settles into the assurance of what that means. Perhaps all the ways he unspools with each moon only warm Hubert to him, as is the case in reverse. It is hard to believe, but then, it would not be the strangest thing either of them has seen.


End file.
